Endless land flowed past the boxcar, and in the distance came a sign that said, “Now Leaving St. Louis.”
“Who are you again?” asked a man ridin’ sittin’ next to me. He had a scruffy beard, and grayish brown hair. He’d been on the train since I got on. He was holdin’ a small bag closely beside him as if it were his very life in the bag.
“Paul. Paul Smith. You?” I responded.
“George. What are you doin’ here? Where ya goin’ to go?”
“Lookin’ for a job, goin’ out past Omaha in Nebraska.”
“You won’t find anythin’, especially not a job in Omaha anyways.” The train went over a bump; George slid closer to the edge, but found a handhold on the roof and pulled himself back to where I was sittin’.
“I had nowhere else to go. My mother told me she had to take care of my younger sister, and that I had to raise some money for my family. She told me to leave, and to support my family. I really had no choice.”
“What happened to your father, did he lose his job?”
“I’d rather not talk about it, but ya, he did.”
“It can’t be that bad, I lost my house, and all the money I had. All I have to my name is what you see here. Your family at least still has a house.”
“One day, Pa came home, pulled my mother aside, and told her that he lost his job. His bank had collapsed after too many people tried to pull their money out. He then pulled her into the kitchen, where I couldn’t hear what he was sayin’. All of a sudden, I hear my mother begin to scream and sob, and she seemed to be beggin’ my pa for somethin’. I ran to the kitchen only to hear Pa say, ‘The insurance should be able to keep you afloat for a while, I can’t make any money, and will only pull this family down.’ My mother begged him sobbin’, sayin’, ‘Please no.’ I then watched Pa pull out his Colt .45, put it to his head, and pull the trigger.” I was tearin’ up by the end of the story, and George, who I had met but fifteen minutes earlier, came over to comfort me, tellin’ me that things are goin’ to get better.
“Look, I hear there is a job available on the way to Omaha, and there is a jungle nearby. I could probably get you a job there too, no harm in tryin’. Anythin’ is better than place; so long St. Louis!”
I wasn’t sure. “I don’t think they would want to hire a sixteen year old guy to do... What was the job you found?”
“That’s not important. Any job beats no job, right? The big thin’ when we get there is to look for bulls; they always hang around the big cities. They will throw you in jail and then ya can’t make any money for your family
The sun was settin’, and it was gettin’ cold on top of the train. The train began to move past the the ol’ corn belt. Didn’t live up to its name; dust bowl would’a been more fittin’. Dust flowed over the train, I had a hard time seein’ to the next boxcar. The longer I was up there, the more I coughed, and so did everyone else. The cold stung, but the dust stung more, and made my eyes burn. Everyone seemed to have a layer of dust on them. I regretted not thinkin’ to brin’ a jacket, although it was much warmer when I left home. In fact, all I had was a fifty cents, and the clothes on my back. “What if there is nothin’ there, nobody is takin’ in people like me. I doubt people will even let me stay at the jungles.”
“I’ll tell them you’re with me. They oughta believe that.” He began to chat with the other ten or so people on the train, I rolled over and went to sleep.
I awoke to a harsh bump, and the train began to make a left turn, we were on the right side. George began to slide towards the edge, I grabbed his arm and screamed to wake him up. He awoke cussin’. His knees were already off of the edge of the train, and his body slid further off the edge with every passin’ moment. Soon, I was holdin’ him by only his hand as he hung for a second, then fell off the edge, rolled, and had his leg hit by one of the train’s wheels.
For the next hour, I could not get the sound of his screamin’ out of my head, that desperate, terrible sound that cut to my core like a thousand white hot knives. I looked at his bag, the last thin’ I had left to remember him with. As I opened the bag, tears welled up in my eyes. There was a map of all the railroads, with Fremont, which is just a little past Omaha, marked and the contact info for the job he was tryin’ to get. Then there was a picture of his wife, and what looked like his five year old daughter, with goodbye letters from each.
The boxcar slowed, and I hopped off at Burlington Street. I walked toward F Street, where I caught another train to Fremont where I would begin my new life without family or friends. I was now truly alone.
Endless land flowed past the boxcar, and in the distance came a sign that said, “Now Leaving St. Louis.”
“Who are you again?” asked a man ridin’ sittin’ next to me. He had a scruffy beard, and grayish brown hair. He’d been on the train since I got on. He was holdin’ a small bag closely beside him as if it were his very life in the bag.
“Paul. Paul Smith. You?” I responded.
“George. What are you doin’ here? Where ya goin’ to go?”
“Lookin’ for a job, goin’ out past Omaha in Nebraska.”
“You won’t find anythin’, especially not a job in Omaha anyways.” The train went over a bump; George slid closer to the edge, but found a handhold on the roof and pulled himself back to where I was sittin’.
“I had nowhere else to go. My mother told me she had to take care of my younger sister, and that I had to raise some money for my family. She told me to leave, and to support my family. I really had no choice.”
“What happened to your father, did he lose his job?”
“I’d rather not talk about it, but ya, he did.”
“It can’t be that bad, I lost my house, and all the money I had. All I have to my name is what you see here. Your family at least still has a house.”
“One day, Pa came home, pulled my mother aside, and told her that he lost his job. His bank had collapsed after too many people tried to pull their money out. He then pulled her into the kitchen, where I couldn’t hear what he was sayin’. All of a sudden, I hear my mother begin to scream and sob, and she seemed to be beggin’ my pa for somethin’. I ran to the kitchen only to hear Pa say, ‘The insurance should be able to keep you afloat for a while, I can’t make any money, and will only pull this family down.’ My mother begged him sobbin’, sayin’, ‘Please no.’ I then watched Pa pull out his Colt .45, put it to his head, and pull the trigger.” I was tearin’ up by the end of the story, and George, who I had met but fifteen minutes earlier, came over to comfort me, tellin’ me that things are goin’ to get better.
“Look, I hear there is a job available on the way to Omaha, and there is a jungle nearby. I could probably get you a job there too, no harm in tryin’. Anythin’ is better than place; so long St. Louis!”
I wasn’t sure. “I don’t think they would want to hire a sixteen year old guy to do... What was the job you found?”
“That’s not important. Any job beats no job, right? The big thin’ when we get there is to look for bulls; they always hang around the big cities. They will throw you in jail and then ya can’t make any money for your family
The sun was settin’, and it was gettin’ cold on top of the train. The train began to move past the the ol’ corn belt. Didn’t live up to its name; dust bowl would’a been more fittin’. Dust flowed over the train, I had a hard time seein’ to the next boxcar. The longer I was up there, the more I coughed, and so did everyone else. The cold stung, but the dust stung more, and made my eyes burn. Everyone seemed to have a layer of dust on them. I regretted not thinkin’ to brin’ a jacket, although it was much warmer when I left home. In fact, all I had was a fifty cents, and the clothes on my back. “What if there is nothin’ there, nobody is takin’ in people like me. I doubt people will even let me stay at the jungles.”
“I’ll tell them you’re with me. They oughta believe that.” He began to chat with the other ten or so people on the train, I rolled over and went to sleep.
I awoke to a harsh bump, and the train began to make a left turn, we were on the right side. George began to slide towards the edge, I grabbed his arm and screamed to wake him up. He awoke cussin’. His knees were already off of the edge of the train, and his body slid further off the edge with every passin’ moment. Soon, I was holdin’ him by only his hand as he hung for a second, then fell off the edge, rolled, and had his leg hit by one of the train’s wheels.
For the next hour, I could not get the sound of his screamin’ out of my head, that desperate, terrible sound that cut to my core like a thousand white hot knives. I looked at his bag, the last thin’ I had left to remember him with. As I opened the bag, tears welled up in my eyes. There was a map of all the railroads, with Fremont, which is just a little past Omaha, marked and the contact info for the job he was tryin’ to get. Then there was a picture of his wife, and what looked like his five year old daughter, with goodbye letters from each.
The boxcar slowed, and I hopped off at Burlington Street. I walked toward F Street, where I caught another train to Fremont where I would begin my new life without family or friends. I was now truly alone.